Thy Will Be Mine
by The Black Swan
Summary: A story of forbidden fruit, rejection, and finding love in chaos. Can Hermione let go of her memories? Will Draco stop hiding behind his foolish games? DracoHermione, obviously. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Cleansing

_**Though it's obvious, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. I wouldn't be writing fanfiction if I did. I've deleted one of my other Hermione/Draco stories, and am in the process of deciding whether or not to delete the other. They don't represent myself very well, so I thought they weren't worth even finishing. This one, however, is a bit more of an accurate representation, so hopefully I won't fail you! Please review, I'm not picky about what is said. It's encouraging when I get reviews, makes me want to write more, so do be kind and leave a little contribution in the box!**_

_**Chapter One: Cleansing**_

Rain fell steadily, the blessedly cool drops of diamond shimmer beating deliciously against her smooth, ivory skin. A sharp gasp of pleasure escaped her plump lips of rose as the crystal drops slid down her body like the gentle caress of a lover, the water running through her hair likening unto fingertips tangling in the chocolate tresses. Lingering beads of this delight, kissed her lips gently, oh so tenderly.

Her knees buckled, her hands trembled. The ground met her with chilled arms, cradling her with a soft embrace. Thunder rolled in the distance and in the chasm of her mind, sending her heart into a frantic race. The pure glory of the storm consumed her. The glory of her memories consumed her. The wretched need for cleansing consumed her.

"Take me…" the words were snatched away by the bitter wind, sucked into the black clouds above. She was ready, completely willing, nay, eager for what was to come, no matter her fear.

She felt, rather than heard his approach. Her eyes flickered open, a flash of brilliant gold, gazing at him with abhorrence, and yet, affection. "Take me," the words rushing out before she could stop them.

_No…this is wrong…it's not supposed to happen this way…_ The thought was too late. It flitted through her mind a second too late. Too late…

The tempest answered her demand to be taken with a brilliant flash of lightening and a cold hand upon her wrist.

----

He'd seen her throw her deep red cloak around her thin shoulders, gold eyes darting about for those who would arrest her mission. A smirk painted his lips, playing mischievously in glints of charcoal in his silver eyes. He would have his fun.

She'd slipped out; he slid down the stairs. He followed her, darting from shadow to shadow, the only noise being the faint rasp of her cloak against stone, and her breath stealing in and out of those lips. She reached the doors that called to her, pulling one open without the slightest creak and fled into the open where it rained most sorrowfully.

He slithered silently through the gap before it had time to close and found a place in the shadow of a statue, shielding himself from view with its massive granite shape. He watched as she stood in the rain, face upturned, eyes closed, reveling in the purification. She collapsed to her knees, arms open, palms up. Alabaster white skin was drenched and he found his fingers itching to feel the slick silk of her beneath them.

He approached her silently; drawn by a force he couldn't possibly resist, nor recognize if he wanted to. Reaching out to touch her, his hand skimmed above her flesh, never quite touching. Warm, moist breath stroked his fingers, paused above her parted lips. They moved, her voice lost to his ears on the wind.

Trailing down her throat, his hands moved to her arms. He looked to her face. Gold. Eyes open, lips moving.

"Take me…"

He took her.


	2. Wanton Desires

_**Chapter Two: Wanton Desire**_

"Vile wretch!" she snarled as he plucked her small form from the ground. A cruel smiled played across his face while he tugged her along. "Let go!" Trying to brace herself against the ground, she slipped, her feet in flimsy sandals sliding in the gathering mud. Her only option, make him fight. She let her legs collapse; he would have to drag her. A callous laugh burst from his lips and felt like razors trailing down her spine. Hanging limp for a moment in his arms, she was stunned at this heartless expression. It was all he needed, and he pulled her upright, forcing her along with the wet crimson cloak slapping painfully against her bare calves.

"Cretin!" the word spat in his face as she slammed the heel of her hand against his chest when they paused in the shelter of the castle veranda. He only seemed amused, stilling her struggling arms with his large hands.

"Now, now, Granger! Such words are not fit for a young lady's delicate mouth!" His fingers, the skin softer than what it should have been, gracefully brushed her bottom lip, a bare touch.

"Don't touch me," she said breathlessly, pulling away from his electrifying fingers. He sighed, feigning a hurt expression.

"You wound me! Is my touch really so repulsive?" The question surprised her, but she ignored it, posing her own.

"What are you doing here?"

"Why, I couldn't leave you out in the rain, you would have caught your death!" he voice was teasing, mocking. _The idea was to feel better, you bloody imbecile, _she thought. _I wonder what he would think if he knew…I wonder what he would say. _

"Leave. Just leave," it was almost a whimper.

"What were you doing, Granger? Why were you willing to let the storm take you away?"

"It's none of your concern."

"Come now, you must tell me," he laughed, his head dipping slightly to stare into her eyes.

Gold and silver. Silver and gold. It was frightening, and she tried to shrink away.

"How did you get so much gold in your eyes?" He blinked, those black lashes stroking his cheeks.

"Don't, Malfoy," she whispered, willing him to leave her. He laughed again, gentler this time, careful. His laugh was careful.

"Don't what, _mon cher_?" she shuddered at the endearment, and felt her fear beginning to build. He wasn't being Malfoy.

She felt she couldn't breathe. For once in all eternity, Hermione Granger was at a loss for words. What a perfect time to be.

"Don't what?" he repeated, stepping closer, the hem of his black peek-a-boo shirt brushing her hips. Hermione couldn't help but stare. The shirt was long, expensive silk, with a v-neck, dipping to mid-chest, and was supposed to have been tied at the throat. He hadn't bothered with it. Malfoy's pale skin, his lean, sculpted chest peeped through, making her stomach drop to her feet.

"Don't get so close. Stop that." Hermione pressed herself against the beam of the veranda. "Stop acting so unlike yourself."

"_Mon cher_, how would you know what I'm like?" he stepped closer still, just painful inches from her rapidly warming body. A blush ran up her cheeks.

"I know you hold no niceties for me. Please step away!" her voice, to her dismay, peaked with a desperate tone. Tempted to push him away, she wasn't sure how she'd react with him under her hands at that second.

The tension was so strong, so unbelievably fierce; she almost reached out, despite her fear and determination. His eyes followed her hand's path, those silver eyes smoldering with a desire she didn't care to know more about. He watched as her palm came up, fingers spread wide as if to lie against his chest, and yet, to ward him off simultaneously. Another smile, another damn smile that was so malicious, danced across his mouth as he closed the distance between them, striding into her waiting hand.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered in almost a frenzied panic when his smooth, chiseled body molded against her soft curves. Only her trembling hand unwillingly pressed against his chest kept her face from being tucked into that bare "v" of skin.

"Because I can, Granger. Because I can have you. I can have you with the flick of my wrist." He demonstrated so, flicking his fingers up her arm, across her collar bone, to rest lightly against her cheek. A flush stained them, and he traced the color.

"No!" The word burst from her lips, and she jerked her face away, successfully bashing her head against the stone pillar she was pressed against. He'd backed her up. She was trapped. His laugh reached her ears again, and goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold, spread across her pale skin. To her disappointment, tears began to fill her eyes, with physical hurt and humiliation. _I won't cry! I refuse to cry in front of this monster!_ She chanted to herself, avoiding his amused eyes.

His fingers trailed away from her face to tangle themselves in her wet curls; his other floated up to her right cheek, and turned her face to his. The tears threatened to overflow, glistening in her gold eyes at the sight of his cold, but lustful ones. She jumped when his thumb briefly touched her cheek bones. They moved agonizingly slow, sketching slow circles, marking their path up to her eyes. With a gentle force, they pressed the lower lids, and compelled the lingering tears into take the plunge, dripping. A shuddering gasp fled, and on the edge of insanity, she managed to grasp a little of her mind, keeping it together just a little longer.

Suddenly, his face was next to hers, lips following the tear stains, soaking up the salty trails. "Why tears, Hermione?" he asked. Reluctantly, her eyes fluttered closed.

"Because you're killing me. Happy?" His chuckle was low and breathy, and she could feel it in his chest, in her chest.

"Forbidden fruit is so delightful, Hermione." His lips moved across her nose, skipping her mouth to her chin. Oh, how she longed to feel them against her own. Despite her moral obligations, she reveled in her moment of insanity. "Don't you want to taste it?"

Hermione felt herself begin to nod, and caught herself before the motion went further. She felt him smile and almost dropped to her knees when those torturous lips touched hers so lightly, so briefly, it was like a mist.

Unexpectedly…he was gone. Hermione opened her eyes, and he was standing far away, cool and collected; it was as if he wasn't there at all.

"Let me know when you do."

Gone.


	3. Reality's Imagination

**Chapter 3: Reality's Imagination**

Hermione was late for breakfast the next morning, and he smiled ruthlessly at her appearance. She looked ruffled, her uniform in a little disarray, her hear pulled back into a messy bun of curls. Her face was pale, with dark smudges under her eyes, like she hadn't slept. Good. Draco was happy to find he'd given her no sleep. A pitiless, muffled chuckle broke out, and he had to catch himself before he began to laugh aloud.

Oh, he was having fun. Yes, he was truly enjoying causing Hermione Granger mental anguish. She would give, with enough brow-beating, and he was happy to know it was going to be him.

He would have her, for reasons unknown to even him. Maybe it was the challenge; maybe it was just teenage lust. Maybe he just had a desire to rid the school of the most prudish girl on Earth, claiming victory over all, and creating a work of art.

Or perhaps…it was that look in her eyes when he found her. That terrible look of utter despair that made him see that maybe, just maybe, it was possible that she wasn't so different than him after all.

He was smiling as he watched her take a bite of toast and a sip of juice before rushing out of the Great Hall.

_Let the games begin._

----

_Shite, I'm gong to be late for Advanced Charms!_ Hermione thought to herself as she hurried along. Still chewing the bite of toast she'd taken from Ron's plate, she slung her pack over her shoulder. It was lighter than what she expected, and she groaned when she couldn't remember picking up her Charms book. _There aren't enough hours in a day to get everything important done!_

Juggling her bag, she stopped for a moment and flipped the cover on it up, shoving her hand deep inside searching for the thick text. _Damn that Malfoy for keeping me up all night! I can't even think properly!_ Unable to sleep after their encounter, she'd lain awake in her room, rolling back and forth in her bed and disturbing Crookshanks. Finally he'd growled at her and she'd gotten out of bed to leave him in peace. She'd left her room to curl up in front of the glowing warmth of the fire in the heads common room, managing a meager two hours of sleep before Dean woke her up. Hermione had smiled embarrassedly and mumbled about how she had been unable to sleep, so she'd come into the common room to read and must have fallen asleep in the process. Dean had looked at her curiously when she had no book to prove her alibi, but thankfully asked no more questions, leaving her to rush through her morning routine.

"Yes, I left it in my room! Oh! I'm going to be so late!" she cried, swinging the bag back over her shoulder. With a frustrated sigh, she turned the corner and promptly bumped into a warm body.

"Oh! Hermione! What are you doing out of class?" It was Lavender, smiling brightly, obviously not caring that she was late also.

"I left my Charms book in my common room. Hopefully Professor Flitwick will forgive me," she said, smiling through her tired stupor.

"He will. Tell him you were having womanly troubles. That'll back him up!" Lavender exclaimed with a cackle. Hermione started a little at the sound of her laugh. It always made her jump.

"I'll keep that in mind," she murmured, giggling half-heartedly.

"Take care, Herms!" With that horrid nickname for an end note, Lavender bounced away, leaving Hermione standing, shaking her head.

Hermione turned and continued on to her room. Whispering the password to the tapestry, she ducked through the common room, grabbing her book, and rushed out, letting the tapestry fall back in place behind her. Hoping Professor Flitwick wouldn't be too upset, she slowed her pace, too tired to care. She was late anyway, what was another minute?

Rounding the corner, she stopped short, and turned to take a detour.

"Hermione…" her name was drawn out, teasing in its wretched delight. Malfoy had seen her, and she wasn't getting away. She paused, her back to him and glad she couldn't see his face.

"What?" Hermione asked, looking at her shoes with a troubled inward sigh. His loafers padded softly against the stone floor, halting inches from her back.

She felt his heat. He wasn't touching her, but her body was aware of him. Every curve, every ridge was outlined in her head, just from the heat, the sexual appeal he exuded.

"You are breaking the rules. You, _mon charmant_, are out of class without permission." She couldn't control the involuntary smirk. _Mon charmant._ My lovely. What would he think, if he knew she wasn't so lovely after all?

His breath was warm on her neck and she cursed her decision to wear a bun. "It seems I'm not the only one," she said. "You are out, also."

"Well, how convenient is it that we should be out together?" He leaned closer, the frightful lust screaming at her back. "Come. Let's make music."

"Sorry, Malfoy. I'm afraid my melody doesn't need a harmony."

Hermione couldn't stifle the shudder that wracked her body when his chuckle reverberated through her, making her stomach clench with an inconceivable fury. Desperately, she wanted to lean against him, to cease that foolish desire building in her core, but couldn't.

_What would happen? What would be different?_

His fingers pulled slightly on a stray curl lying against her neck, wanting her to lift her head.

_How would giving into temptation change everything?_

That chest, that lean, delicious chest brushed her shoulders as his head dipped.

_Would it change me?_

Moist breath lovingly fondled her ear when smooth arms enfolded her waist.

_Would it change my relationship with my friends?_

His breathing matched hers; they were molded, like a fusion she couldn't imagine even existed.

_Would I be able to feel?_

The lips against her earlobe were hot, almost blazing in their intensity.

_Would it change him?_

Curse that desire building inside her. It was terrible, wanting an experience she'd never desired before.

_Does it matter?_

"Stop! Just stop!" The words were painful, and she hated the way they sounded, but she couldn't give in.

Malfoy's hands stilled, but he did not remove them. She started to pull away, but his arms were frozen in place, and she couldn't escape.

"Hermione," she hated and loved her name when he said it. "Why can't you just let this happen?" His voice was soft, quiet. Turning slightly, she glanced at his face. He looked genuinely confused at her rejection.

"Because we live in reality, Malfoy, and you are the enemy. My role is to hate you, and visa versa. We do not mingle, and we most certainly do not have…passionate interludes. Is that reason enough for you?" she pushed against his chest, and he allowed her a little breadth, still not releasing her.

"Oh, _mon_ _cher_, didn't anyone tell you? Reason is just a figment of reality's imagination."

Stunning. It was the only word that came to mind when she looked at him, turning those unpretentious words over and over in her head.

_Is it really that simple?_

At that moment, she wasn't sure.

"I'm dead. I'm just dead."

Of that, she was.


End file.
